


The Gift of Tea

by the_cloud_whisperer



Series: Cloud's Zukaang Fics [5]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, COVID-19, Chinese Language, Classical Music, Dialogue Heavy, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Heavily inspired by author's self-projecting experiences, Introspection, Librarian!Zuko, Light Angst, M/M, Not a Crossover, Phlebotomist!Aang, Self-Esteem Issues, Tea, TwoSetViolin mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:00:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24764275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_cloud_whisperer/pseuds/the_cloud_whisperer
Summary: Zuko contemplates the worth of his chosen career amid the pandemic, and Aang tries to comfort him.Short sequel to "The Gift of Blood", in which music librarian Zuko falls in love with phlebotomist Aang after the latter saves him in multiple unpleasant blood donations. Not necessary to have read the prequel, but may provide additional context. Please note this is not a sickfic, and no major characters are personally infected with COVID-19.
Relationships: Aang/Zuko (Avatar)
Series: Cloud's Zukaang Fics [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1219487
Comments: 18
Kudos: 133





	The Gift of Tea

**Author's Note:**

> Lapsang souchong is my favorite tea, originating from Fujian, China. It has a strong woody fragrance, reminiscent of the pinewood used in the smoking process of preparing the leaves, and sometimes cypress/cedar as well. 
> 
> There are some clickable links at relevant points in the text for your entertainment—all redirect to YouTube. 
> 
> Series timeline:  
> The Gift of Blood  
> \- April 2018: Aang and Zuko meet at the latter's first donation  
> \- January 2019: Zuko subway incident  
> \- February 2019: Aang car accident  
> \- April 2019: they get together
> 
> \- November 2019: Zuko moves in with Aang  
> The Gift of Tea takes place in late March 2020, New York City.

It's a beautiful night, and Zuko doesn’t say this lightly. Clouds stretch across the heavens, obscuring the sky and promising rain. It's late March, and the chill of early spring makes him shiver as he stands outside on the balcony of Aang's apartment.

 _Our apartment,_ he reminds himself, having moved in with Aang last November, when the world hadn't yet been turned upside down. It's funny how he sometimes still forgets.

It's a beautiful night, and it would be even more beautiful if Aang were here, but he's still at work wrapping up an evening blood drive. The clouds reflect the light of the city, thousands of streetlamps illuminating almost empty streets. It makes them shine brightly like snow, faded pink and orange instead of the pitch-black darkness that would normally envelop the night sky. It's almost impossible to see any stars in the city center even on a clear evening.

He closes his eyes, relaxing his gaze from the relentless glow. The air is sharp and clean, sanitized by the chill. The usual notes of engine exhaust and saturated frying oil are absent. He inhales deeply, a new flavor adding itself to the night's profile. A smoky firewood fragrance, pinewood and cedar—he remembers his mother would always point it out to him when they took early afternoon walks back home in the winter.

 _Only when the year grows cold do we see the qualities of pine and cypress_. The proverb had gone over his head as a child, his mother's voice fading with the years until he's surprised that he even remembers it now.

"Earth to Zuko," a voice much closer at hand beckons.

"Aang!" He opens his eyes to see his better half setting a cup of tea down next to his elbow where he leans on the stucco banister.

"Picked up some lapsang souchong for you on the way home." Aang picks up his hand where it dangles numbly at his side and drops a glancing kiss on it.

"You shouldn't have gone to all the trouble," he murmurs. "That explains why I thought I smelled a burning wood fire in a neighborhood where no one has a working chimney."

He picks up the mug, and they drink in silence.

"How was work?"

"Mm," Aang hums contemplatively. "There were actually a lot of donors today, which hasn't been the norm. Most people are staying home, afraid of going anywhere near a hospital, but that doesn’t mean the need for blood has dwindled."

"I'm due in about… five weeks?" He checks his calendar to make sure. Yes, last time he'd donated was three weeks ago.

"You don’t say." Aang pulls a little away from him, looking him up and down exaggeratedly. "You're hardly showing, I never would have thought…"

 _What??_ "Oh, haha, very funny.” He realizes that Aang’s mischievously misconstrued his "due date" as date of delivery. "Yes, I'll be giving birth to a healthy O-negative baby bag of blood. And as the husband, you're rightfully entitled to deliver the baby."

"Nah, fathers don’t deliver the baby. If Dad's not passed out cold on the floor by then, the nurse hands him the scissors to cut the cord, just to let him feel involved." Aang wrinkles his nose in disdain at the lack of constitutional hardiness most fathers display in the delivery room.

 _How did we get onto this topic…?_ In spite of the wackiness of their conversation, Zuko loves the ease with which they float from one thought to another, no need for stilted transitions, formed structure—just two minds flowing in tandem.

"Upper management's thinking about redistributing personnel, shifting some of us into more pandemic-response duties," Aang says, resuming their conversational thread. "You know, doing nasal swabs, fitting volunteers for N95 respirators, EMT standby for those of us who have been certified."

Zuko frowns. That doesn’t sound encouraging; if anything, that puts Aang at higher risk of exposure. He takes a long sip of tea to stall any further response.

"It's not surprising; lots of people who normally serve in different roles are stepping up to help overwhelmed staff at every medical center in the city. You know they're graduating fourth year medical students early so they can start their internships sooner? And just the other day Toph was complaining to me—there's been an uptick in transfusion-related reactions on inpatient hospital wards around the city because they're pulling nurses who usually work in "nonessential" wards like PM&R to relieve the day shifts. They have less experience with transfusions, plus all that on-the-job training is hugely stressful, leading to more than a few cases of inappropriately transfused blood products."

Aang runs his hand over his head in frustration and worry, the tiny rasp of millimeters-long fuzz rippling under his fingers. He hasn't had time to shave thoroughly in the past few days, and Zuko's heart breaks to see him so worn out.

"Let's go inside," he suggests. "Have you eaten dinner yet?"

Aang follows him through the sliding doors and plops heavily down on the couch. "Yeah, I had a bite to eat at my last break before we closed."

"A bite," Zuko echoes dubiously.

"A very large, discourteously huge bite," Aang qualifies. "I'm fine, Zuko, just… come sit here with me?"

Zuko hesitates, torn between trying to sneak some more food into Aang versus spending the evening quietly together. Finally, he obliges and curls himself onto the seat next to his love, still clutching his tea. Aang's warmth seeps into him, dispelling the chill from outside.

~

Aang nestles Zuko’s head under his chin, and Zuko pulls his left hand to his lips, softly mouthing at the backs of his fingers. If they had a fireplace, a bright and merry hearth fire would be blazing in it, gentle snowfall gracing the view out the windows, and this cocoon of warmth and grace would shield them against the cold.

Reality is a little less cozy, but no less full of his beloved. "Tell me about your day," he murmurs.

"Mm…" Zuko's lips tense against his fingers as he pauses in his gentle ministrations. "Worked on the usual projects from home. I’ve been transcribing scanned images of old librettos that have been gathering digital dust for decades. Oh, and the Philharmonic's trying to put together some more robust digital programming for children to expose them to classical music early on. You know, stuff like Saint-Saens _Carnival of the Animals,_ Prokofiev's _Peter and the Wolf_ suite, something where kids can guess what animals are being portrayed in the music.”

He props his feet up on the coffee table, posture tired and petulant. “It's supposed to be fun and accessible, a gateway into an overwhelming glut of programmatic music. I told the director of outreach quite frankly: no kid without a classical music background is going to appreciate Bach's _Mass in B minor_ or Mahler's 5th symphony just from listening to it. Then they suggested, as a compromise, Vaughan Williams’ ‘The Lark Ascending’, but even that is way too highbrow for anyone who didn’t start playing the violin at four years old. But will they listen to me? After all, I'm just a lowly archivist.”

He listens to Zuko wax eloquent about how out of touch the upper echelons of the profession are with the interests of young people, particularly those without access to music lessons or any casual experience with classical music. Zuko sometimes forgets that Aang falls into that category as well, and that the increasingly syllabic names dropping from his lips mean little to him—"Die Erlkonig"? Rostropovich who? "Thus Spake Zarathustra"? Aang sounds the names out carefully in his head but is none the more enlightened about who they are.

He doesn’t mind, though. Meaningless though they may be to Aang, they are everything to Zuko: essential players in the beautiful, if arcane, world of music. He lifts his cup to take another sip of rapidly cooling tea, and the porcelain knocks against Zuko's head right under his mouth.

The rapid stream of consciousness abruptly cuts itself off. "I'm boring you." Zuko sighs deeply, the motion pervading his whole body and making Aang's rise and fall with his breath. "Sorry, I'll shut up."

"Zuko…" Aang says reprovingly. "You're not boring me, don’t even think that. I love hearing you talk about what you do."

"Well, I know you do, because you're _you._ But it must seem so trivial, when you and thousands of other healthcare workers are on the front lines saving lives and I'm just… stressing over whether kids will appreciate Faure's 'Pavane' _._ You _do_ see how the two things are not equal?"

He dodges Zuko's pointed question in favor of asking, "How does that one go?"

[🎶](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iLQR9DZRru4)

Zuko hums the melody, a lilting, lyrical, line, darkly reminiscent of stately halls and noble courts. It's lovely in itself, and all the more so because Aang can feel the vibrations of Zuko humming against his chest, a mild buzz that makes him smile and want to cradle his love closer.

"I've definitely heard that one on PBS growing up, even if I didn’t know what it was called at the time."

Zuko shrugs. "Well, you could have gone the rest of your life not knowing 'Pavane' and been just fine without it. But say you catch a little virus and go into respiratory failure—you can't not seek medical care." He brings his mug of tea to his lips, inhaling deeply but not drinking. " _Only when the year grows cold do we see the qualities of pine and cypress_."

"You've lost me. What does that mean?"

Zuko finally squirms around, positioning himself so that he can face Aang, but still looking down at his lap. "Just an obscure Chinese proverb my mother used to tell me. Normally we overlook the understated pine and cypress in favor of trees with more brilliant foliage and flowers. But when winter comes, the other trees' branches stand bare, and only then do we appreciate the evergreen pine and cypress's beauty."

"So I'm the beautiful pine and the handsome cypress?" Aang preens exaggeratedly.

"Of course. I started thinking of it when I smelled the tea you brought me." He sets his cup down on the table. "Not just you, but every essential worker during this crisis. Not just doctors and nurses, but phlebotomists, sanitation workers, delivery drivers, grocery store clerks… and then you have us nonessential people working from home and being superfluous."

So this is the nature of Zuko's turmoil. Aang tries to gather his thoughts, exhausted body not quite up to speed with his whirling mind, considering how to respond.

Zuko’s phone decides that it is time to contribute to the conversation, piping up a notification as if it feels the silence lies too heavily on them. It gives Aang an idea, and he paws at Zuko’s pockets, searching for that heady balm that will put his love at ease.

“Don’t bother; that notification’s probably a text from the director wondering why I haven’t uploaded my proposal for the site layout yet.” Zuko waves him off. “I’ve told them already: do I look like I did any coursework for graphics design and user interface in college?”

“No, I need it for something else.” Aang locates Zuko’s phone, swiping the unlock pattern with ease.

“Why are you always stealing my phone?” Zuko grouches.

“Trust me.” He browses to a certain YouTube channel, and as he scrolls, he tries to remember what Zuko’s told him of the classical violin comedy duo known as TwoSetViolin. “Hm… how ‘bout this one?”

[ _ELECTRICAL APPLIANCE SOUNDS ON THE VIOLIN – 10:07_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dYSc-523sko)

“You know TwoSet?” Zuko looks at him, puzzled. “But they posted that video months ago.”

“Of course I know TwoSet, because _you_ like them. I remember this one because you made me watch it with you and you couldn’t stop laughing for ten minutes straight when Eddy acted out ‘lawnmower’ on the violin. Just trust me, let’s re-watch it.”

Zuko blows out a long, frustrated breath through clenched teeth but acquiesces. They watch in rapt attention for the next ten minutes as Brett and Eddy attempt to portray different types of household appliances through creative violin playing only, with hilarious and wildly inaccurate results. Aang finds himself divided between the screen and Zuko's focused gaze, lips twitching as he fights off a smile, a laugh, a stream of mirth absent from his milieu just a few minutes ago.

That is how he should be, joyous, exalted in good cheer and happiness. Aang doesn’t miss the irony of Zuko’s predicament: joy sparked by the very profession he believes to be redundant amid the urgency of the pandemic, of whom he himself is a part.

_Do I contradict myself? Very well then, I contradict myself. I am large—I contain multitudes._

_And I love every inch of those multitudes that comprise you,_ Aang thinks fiercely.

The screen fades to black, their faces looking back at the starless expanse, and Zuko remains smiling at it, transfixed, relaxed. Beautiful.

"Would you call them essential or nonessential?"

"Huh?" Zuko looks up, confused, but quickly rewinds to their prior conversation. "Well…"

"I'd say they're certainly essential to your happiness, and the happiness of…" He checks Zuko's phone for the latest numbers. "…nearly two and a half million other people. Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, isn't that how the constitution goes?"

"They're Australian," Zuko points out.

"Stop twisting my words. They're universal rights." What _will_ it take to sway him? "Zuko—"

"No, it's alright, Aang. I know what you're getting at." Zuko cuts him off. "You're right. You save lives, but art is what people actually live for. Music university ingrained that into me, but hearing society blast the opposite tune is a bit demoralizing. No need to beat a dead horse."

"Why won't you let me comfort you?” Aang asks, frustrated. “I'm your husband; I get to do that.” 

"What?!"

 _Ah yes, okay, maybe not such a good idea to joke around about that_. Aang mentally smacks himself in the head several times, berating his poor word choice. "Sorry, I meant… when you were joking about giving birth to a baby blood bag, and you said that as the husband, I had the right to deliver the baby."

"Oh, gods, don’t scare me like that." Zuko tilts his head back, neck resting on the back of the sofa as if the weight of the world has just collapsed onto his shoulders. "Technically you do deliver my 'baby' every time. I'll never cheat on you with another phlebotomist."

This level of ridiculousness in conversation means they should go to sleep, but Aang finds himself too comfortable to move from the couch, draped as they are all over each other. He drops Zuko's "classical musicians are nonessential" self-loathing agenda for now and snuggles more firmly against his side, entangling their ankles and trapping him there. They can’t escape each other even if they wished to do so.

He can't let Zuko fall into a fug just because his newsfeed keeps telling him how many professional symphony members have been furloughed and how worthless his job is. They’ll have to work on that later, though. For now…

 _I love you,_ he thinks, on the verge of nodding off with Zuko, a dangerous decision that will lead to stiff necks and sore backs tomorrow morning. _Pine trees or no, I love you so much._

**Author's Note:**

> 歲寒知松柏 (suìhán zhī sōngbǎi)  
> When the year grows cold, we know the quality of the pine and cypress. — Adversity reveals virtue. 
> 
> Those who've read my other Avatar works know how deeply invested I am in bringing forth obscure cultural tenets I learned in Chinese school; however, this isn't one of them. I only learned of it after browsing around on my dictionary app and looking for proverbs about pine trees :3 Zuko smelling the fragrance of pinewood and reminiscing on his childhood is derived from my personal experiences, though. A lot of the inspiration to write this fic came from standing on the balcony during the early days of quarantine, trying to stargaze and being thwarted by the clouds, and smelling someone burning a fire or a grill. 
> 
> TwoSetViolin bring untold amounts of joy to my dreary life. I first discovered them during my surgery clerkship in August 2019, aka the absolute worst time of life for a medical student not planning to go into surgery :/ Since then, I've absolutely fallen in love with how genuine everything about them is, from their sometimes off-the-mark attempts at humorous violin "charades" and skits, to their more serious reaction pieces critiquing violin playing in movies, as well as talking frankly about the state of classical music today and how young musicians can pursue their dreams. It's especially relevant and thought-provoking during the pandemic when the future of classical music, which depends so much on live audiences, is especially uncertain. Their sincerity, dedication, and depth of thought just… charms the hell out of me. I can't even speak coherently on this, but check them out if you feel the desire, please! Whether or not you are a musician, they're bound to have something that sparks your interest. 
> 
> This is not in any way intended to diminish the sacrifices essential workers are making during this time. Of course healthcare workers and food services workers are basically carrying the whole team on their shoulders now, but as someone with both a medical and a musical background, it is hard for me to discount the value of either field, so in this fic, Zuko got to deal with the existential crisis on my behalf :D
> 
> Find me on other social media via [my Tumblr](http://the-cloud-whisperer.tumblr.com)!


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